Shawn Starbuck Double Western 3 by Ray Hogan

Author:Ray Hogan [Hogan, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wyatt earp, colt 45, the wild west, 1880s history, gunfighters in the old west, outlaws and lawmen, ray hogan, american southwest 1880s, shawn starbuck western series
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Marshal of Babylon

Shawn Starbuck has ridden endless dusty miles through the Southwest searching for his lost brother Ben. Now, on a tip from Wyatt Earp himself, he comes to Babylon, a glittering gambling town where vice and violence flourish unchecked. When Starbuck signs on as town marshal, he vows to bring law and order to the streets of Babylon . . . until a stranger rides in with a message from Ben. Is it a trap—or does Ben really need him?

One

Shawn Starbuck, halting in a pool of deep shadows, allowed his gaze to run the dusty, weathered facades of the structures standing shoulder to shoulder along Dodge City’s Front Street.

He had just ridden in, had stabled his horse, and was now beginning a tour of the town’s many saloons in search of one Jim Winfield, a man he hoped might give him information as to the whereabouts of his missing brother, Ben—known also as Damon Friend.

Winfield was only a slim lead, one picked up back in southwest Texas where the man had been employed as a cowhand on Price Hagerman’s Hash Knife ranch. It was thought that Ben Starbuck also worked there, but no one presently riding for the outfit could be sure. Only Winfield could be positive, and he had moved on to Dodge when Shawn, doggedly following a cold trail, arrived.

Starbuck had ultimately ridden on, having discovered long ago that any clue to Ben, however small, must be tracked down as traces of his brother were few. Thus, locating Winfield and having a talk with him was more important.

He would go first to the Long Branch. The bartenders there were said to know everyone, to be virtual directories of all those who came to, and spent any amount of time in, the brawling cow and buffalo town at the end of the railroad.

Hitching at the pistol slung low on his left thigh, Shawn moved away from the wall of the building near which he had paused and struck off down the boardwalk. There were few persons abroad at that early evening hour since it was just supper time and the night’s activities were yet to begin. It was Shawn’s hope to make as many inquiries concerning Winfield—and Ben—as possible before the saloon men became too busy to engage in conversation.

Starbuck’s steps slowed—halted. A tall, lean individual dressed in dark trousers and broad-brimmed hat and wearing a star on the pocket of his white shirt had emerged from one of the structures immediately ahead and was moving slowly away.

Almost immediately three dark figures stepped in behind him from the adjoining building. Light glinted dully on the blade of a knife held poised to strike by one.

Shawn reacted quickly. He stepped off the walk, gained the center of the street in a half a dozen strides, stopped.

“Marshal!” he called into the closing darkness. “Behind you!”

The lawman threw himself to one side, wheeled. Starbuck’s hand swept down to the forty-five on his hip, hung there as the lawman’s arm lashed out.

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